


Dark Sun

by watermargin



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Non-Consensual, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermargin/pseuds/watermargin
Summary: (AU) A young investigator Ryo, chasing a case of disappearances close to his heart. Fubuki, a courtesan who has information he needs. Their lives endangered by the machinations of power and sacrifices, cults and shadow organizations, by struggles to understand each other.
Relationships: Marufuji Ryou | Zane Truesdale/Tenjouin Fubuki | Atticus Rhodes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Soft breaths, catching. Despite himself, Ryo gasped.

"Shh..."

In the flickering light, his kimono falling off his shoulder, his voice soft, Fubuki looked almost ethereal. His languid smile as he gripped Ryo's thigh and moved the fingers of his other hand inside the investigator. "Just relax..."

The pillow was maddeningly soft underneath his head as he leaned back, quite outside of his control. He exhaled softly.

A soft chuckle. "Are you ready?"

"Do it," Ryo managed to get out.

"If you say so."

Ryo tried not to brace himself. "Ngh—"

Fubuki slid inside. He reached up to stroke Ryo's hair away from his face. "Alright?"

Ryo gripped his shoulder. "Don't be so considerate."

An amused exhale. "As you wish."

It was deep. His breath escaped him without him having allowed it to. His body seemed changed, his skin more sensitive. Something prickling beneath his skin. Fubuki watching him, the flickering candlelight setting his face alternating between warm bronze and cool gray.

"Ah!"

Ragged breaths. Deep breaths.

"That was quick." Fubuki chuckled. "Were you tense?" He slipped off the bed, and to the washbasin.

Ryo watched him as he dipped his hands in the water and rinsed his hands. Something...a tattoo, probably...peeked over the top of his kimono. He turned, and approached with a damp cloth. "Here you are."

Ryo mutely accepted. "...They sent you to watch over me, didn't they?"

Fubuki straightened. "Whatever do you mean?" The smile hadn't left his face. Gentle, nonthreatening, and insincere. "You came to me, sir."

...That part was certainly true. But... "I was directed here," Ryo answered. He briskly wiped himself off.

"How you wound me." Fubuki leaned against the wall. "Shall I assume you intend to take advantage?"

'Advantage,' his ass. A courtesan in the employ of the House of the Peony wasn't in that kind of position. It did, however, make one thing clear: Fubuki had been taught to rejoinder those kinds of conversational tacks.

"That depends," Ryo answered. "Will you show me your back?"

Watching him carefully, Ryo saw the moment Fubuki's eyes shadowed over.

"No?" Ryo pushed the advantage. "Too afraid?"

Slowly, Fubuki lifted his hand. He tugged at his kimono, and turned around as the cloth fluttered past his waist.

Ryo's breath caught. It was indeed a tattoo, or at least, something that looked like it. An image of a dragon, inked in imitation of beautiful brushwork, belying the malice that nearly leapt out at him.

"Satisfied?" Fubuki said softly.

"Yes, thank you."

"I knew it." Fubuki pulled his kimono back over his shoulders and turned back around. "You're looking for the Cult of the Supreme King."

There was no point in denying it. "That's right. Will you tell me what you know?"

The firelight flickered down. 

Ryo caught a glimpse of the smile on Fubuki's face before a knock came at the door. "Sir Ryo? Are you here?"

"He's here," Fubuki called.

Ryo swung his legs over the bed and straightened himself out. "This isn't over," he murmured.

Fubuki didn't respond, and didn't look at him as he knelt and slid open the door for Ryo to exit.

* * *

Ryo was in a bad mood as he was lead back to the reception of the House of the Peony.

"Ah, Sir Ryo," Kuzuki said. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I may have," Ryo answered.

Kuzuki was at the table with a cup of tea, his suit and bearing immaculate, looking faintly tired and pale. 

"Have you been waiting long?" Ryo said.

"I only just arrived," Kuzuki said. "Madam Sanaki was just going to get you." He nodded to the long-haired beauty who had just entered.

"Our apologies for keeping you waiting." In Western dress herself, they made a matched pair. "Have you finished your business, Sir Ryo?"

"I have," Ryo said shortly. "If I may be so rude, I'll take my leave now."

Kuzuki followed him into the sunny street, where they were met by a brisk breeze. At this time of the year, the sky was cloudy with the smoke from the newly-erected factories.

"Ryo..." Kuzuki sighed. "Will you drop this little game of yours?"

Stiffly, Ryo said, "I didn't mean to trouble you." He sheathed his hands in his pockets and strode quickly away.

* * *

The public dormitory was very quiet when Ryo returned. It was likely that most of them had gone to various late-autumn festivals around the city—practically one at every major shrine. It was getting to be the time of day that was very beautiful, when the factories closed and the city was awash in golden light. His neighbor, a painter, raved about it often enough.

His files were still sitting on his desk. Perhaps Kuzuki had been right in sentiment and Ryo should never have began this investigation...but after finally hitting upon a lead, he couldn't stop now.

The House of the Peony was going to be difficult to crack. They were a distinguished entertaining house; while its illegal prostitution was an open secret, few would be willing to condemn it on those grounds. Ryo had managed to gain entrance once by levering the name of one of his connections, but it wasn't likely to happen again.

As he was turning the page, a photo fell out. He froze in the middle of picking it up. The photo of Fubuki. Yes, he had infiltrated the House of the Peony in the hopes of finding him. In that sense, that was mission accomplished.

He tossed the photo back into the file. He had seen the tattoo, but that was all. The fact that the House had lead him to Fubuki themselves was the dangerous part.

A knock came at his door. "Ryo? Are you going to get dinner?" HIs neighbor Yusuke, extending an invitation.

"Yeah." Ryo closed the file. His stomach was rumbling. "Let's go."

* * *

It was pure coincidence that he noticed. Across the street, someone in a black overjacket, the hood drawn over his face. Someone was being lead away for murder. Ryo's mouth went dry as he followed the line of the rope held by the constable to the murderer's wrists. Even through the anonymizing factor of the overjacket, that was obviously Fubuki.

"Someone from the entertainment district?" someone murmured from beside him.

Ryo glanced at him. He'd forgotten that Yusuke was there. 

"You can tell from the design on his kimono," Yusuke muttered, oblivious. He laid a hand to his chin as he observed.

Ryo turned to him. "Yusuke. You know someone who works there, don't you?"

"Hm?" Yusuke's gaze slid to him. "Yes, that's right."

"I have a favor to ask. Can you find out about it for me?"

Yusuke observed him a second. "Even for you, you're being unusually serious," he said. "Very well, I will assist. Give me a bit of time."

* * *

"This is highly irregular, Ryo..."

Ryo pressed his lips together as Master Samejima walked ahead. If he were to assume that the House had discarded Fubuki after his meeting with Ryo, then he could be assassinated at any time, with or without the pretense that he would be executed for his crime. 

Of course, there was always the possibility that the courtesan really had committed a murder right after Ryo had left...

He exhaled when Samejima let him into the holding area where Fubuki was the only one ensconced, visible through the wooden bars of the closest cell.

"I won't ask what you're doing here," Samejima said severely. "But you have five minutes. No more."

"Thank you, Master."

Samejima closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with the prisoner.

Ryo approached the cell. "Did you know this was going to happen to you?"

Seated primly on the floor of the cell, Fubuki lifted his head to meet his eye. "Did you doom me, you mean?" he said. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I was there to ask you about the Cult of the Supreme King," Ryo said bluntly.

Evidently Fubuki hadn't been expecting that. He fell silent.

Ryo pressed closer to the bars. "I'll ask again. Will you tell me what you know?"

Fubuki glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "...You don't expect me to just tell you, do you?"

"I can get you out," Ryo whispered harshly. "Just tell me how much time you have before it's too late."

Silence pressed into the space. The sound of clenching muscles was loud, Fubuki's fingers curled into a fist on his lap. "One week," Fubuki finally said. "Get me out of here before the week is up."

Ryo's fingers were tight around the bars. "Done."


	2. Chapter 2

Yusuke opened the folder and set its contents, a single photograph, on the table. Ryo glanced at it as he approached with the tea and poured a cup.

"It was not very fruitful, I'm afraid," Yusuke began. He leaned back and accepted the tea gratefully. "My colleagues who worked near there weren't allowed to approach once the officials came. They did say that it was very quick and quiet, though." He nodded at the photograph. "Someone took a picture, but she had no need of it, so she gave it to me."

Ryo picked up the photo. A closer look revealed exactly what it seemed: a picture of a few officials standing around an alleyway. "Is this where the body was found?"

"Apparently. —Oh yes." Yusuke laid down the cup and reached into his sleeve. "Another colleague couldn't give me his photo, so I sketched it for you." He flipped through his carry-along notebook, ripped out a page, and set it down on the table.

It was a sketch of the body. Ryo found himself grateful it was only a sketch. "Stabbing?" he said.

"That's what it looked like." 

Ryo gathered the photo and the sketch. "Thank you, Yusuke. I'll treat you to lunch sometime."

Yusuke raised the teacup to his mouth with a smile. "It was not a problem. But I will take you up on that."

* * *

"Sir Ryo." Kuzuki looked at him over his glasses. "What have you been getting yourself into?"

Kuzuki was Ryo's supervisor and sponsor at the investigative agency at which he worked; naturally Kuzuki would have looked into Ryo's actions.

Ryo steepled his hands on the cafe table. He had arrived early to the compulsory weekly meeting; this was a good location for it, being not far away from the small agency office. The noon sunshine was strong, making him a little warm under the collar. "Do you not think the Cult of the Supreme King is worth looking into?"

"It's hopeless," Kuzuki said. He uncrossed his legs, slid the sugar bowl to Ryo's side of the table. "More senior Investigators than you have been lost to that case."

"So what you're saying is that it's important," Ryo said evenly.

"That is not what I'm saying." Kuzuki peered at him. The sun glinted off his frames. "I'm saying it's too much for you."

"...Alright," Ryo said. He unfolded his fingers and reached for the sugar.

"You'll back off?"

"I'll reduce my activities."

"Good." Kuzuki leaned back. "Then let me suggest some cases that might benefit from you taking a look."

Ryo nodded, his eyes skittering disinterestedly off the files Kuzuki brought out.

* * *

In the deep night, the holding area looked almost ghoulish, the only illumination coming from two windows, thick-barred and set high atop the east and west walls.  
Clouds drifted intermittently in front of the moon, blocking its weak light, rendering everything into suggestions of shapes and the stagnant quiet of enclosement.

The sound of the door opening shot through the silence.

Fubuki looked up as hurried footsteps made their way to him. "That was quick."

Ryo unlocked the cell door. "Were you waiting?"

Fubuki stood in one smooth motion. "Either way, I would have been waiting for something." A tame smile had alighted on his face.

Ryo directed his gaze away. "Let's go." He strode back to the door, and stepped beyond the two guards collapsed on the floor.

"Impressive..." Fubuki said as he followed suit. 

His gaze on the guards felt damning. "They're not dead," Ryo said. He cracked open the door to the outdoors. "Non-fatal." He tossed Fubuki the jacket he'd been carrying. "Put this on and let's go."

* * *

_Weak rays of moonlight streamed into the hallway as he pulled his door shut. It was showtime._

_He turned, and jerked to a stop._

_In the light, Yusuke's eyes seemed to faintly gleam. "Are you going to the prison?"_

_"Don't stop me, Yusuke."_

_A cloud drifted in front of the moon. The glint of what might have been a blade in Yusuke's hand was thrown into shadow._

_"I'll give you a warning as a friend, Ryo. This might be hard to hear for an upright person like you, but the upper echelons of the House of the Peony may be spies or assassins."_

_"I'll keep that in mind."_

_Yusuke turned away, his hair a brief flash of blue. "You would do well to be cautious."_

* * *

Ryo glanced at Fubuki beside him. He didn't look like he was conniving anything.

"Is this it?" Fubuki said.

They'd reached the house. Ryo strode to the entrance and opened it up. He'd inherited it more than a decade ago, and hadn't been diligent about its upkeep when he'd moved closer to the industrial center of the city for his schooling. He'd been thinking about moving back for a few months, which had turned out to have been fairly fortuitous. It hadn't been fully modernized, so Ryo lit the lamp by the door for illumination.

"Is this where you live?" Fubuki pattered ahead into the hallway.

"...Almost." Ryo had left a bag of clothes beside the lamp two days ago; he picked it up and pulled out a less-used navy kimono. "I'll get a new one for you tomorrow." He deposited it into Fubuki's hands, then pointed toward the bathing room. "I'll heat it up for you."

"How courteous." Fubuki headed for the bathing room. Without looking back, he added, "Shall I find a way to thank you?" He disappeared from view, sliding the door softly shut behind him.

Ryo didn't get the chance to refute. He wasn't sure why the urge to do so had risen so strongly. Discomfited, he went to the cabinet that controlled the heating, inconveniently installed in the cabinet next to the bathing room. It had been the more affordable hydraulic option, that required a certain distance away from the living body inside the bath; he flicked it on, waited out the count to ten, then raised the lever. Even then, it would take a while for the water to warm.

He considered going in to advise Fubuki about the time delay... He changed his mind, trusting in common sense, and went to take care of other things around the house.

* * *

He had set about lighting all the lamps, checking up on the heating, and checked on the status of all the rooms and making sure they were livable. Finally, he unfolded the futon, laid it out, and turned around. Fubuki was standing in the doorway. A jolt of surprise ran through Ryo; he hadn't realized that Fubuki could walk so quietly.

Fubuki padded toward him. "Getting prepared, are you?"

Ryo made to stand up, but Fubuki was standing too close. Tiny rivulets of water streamed down the contour of his neck and plunged into the kimono. He was gazing at Ryo with an expression that perfectly matched the implication in his words. 

Fubuki leaned over him, reached a hand out. Ryo caught his wrist. Something...bubbled up inside Ryo. Fubuki's expression didn't change as Ryo's grip tightened, nor did it when Ryo pulled him down onto the futon, rolling them both over to lay Fubuki on his back.

"Is this what you're into?" Looking up at him, not breaking eye contact, Fubuki pulled his wrist—and Ryo's hand with it—to his face and pressed his lips to Ryo's fingers.

Ryo pulled his fingers away, he pulled Fubuki's hands over his head and secured them with the cord he'd earlier tossed to the side.

"At your breaking point?" Fubuki whispered. His head was laid to the side, exposing the line of his neck. Deliberate. Warmth flashed all over Ryo's skin, overwhelming his reason.

* * *

Motion beside him caught his attention; Ryo stirred when Fubuki got up. He watched him patter into the hallway, then got up and followed. Fubuki had gone to the kitchen, rummaging through the things Ryo had moved in but not yet unpacked.

"Your hands..."

Fubuki's wrists were bruised. "Yeah," Fubuki said dismissively. "You did it a bit incorrectly..." 

Ryo frowned. 

"Does it bother you that much?" Fubuki said.

"You didn't say anything while I was doing it. You weren't flustered by that at all, were you?"

Fubuki chuckled lightly. "Was that why you did it?"

Ryo didn't give that an answer. He watched Fubuki putter around mixing liquids into a bowl.

"Are you an investigator?" Fubuki said.

"Of a sort."

"I see...." Seeming incurious about clarifying that vague answer, Fubuki dipped his fingers into his mystery mixture and patted the bruises on his wrist. With every swipe, the bruises grew fainter. 

He brought the bowl to the bathroom—to get to the mirror, Ryo realized, when Fubuki looked into it and started patting at his neck. Ryo could see it—faintly. "Someone had their hands around your neck?"

"That's right. Some visitors like that."

So it hadn't happened in the prison. "When?"

"Shortly after you left."

"So you couldn't have committed the murder."

Fubuki's hand stopped. He glanced at Ryo over his shoulder. "Didn't you already suspect as much?"

* * *

"What's the Cult of the Supreme King?"

"I think you may have had a misunderstanding." Fubuki gazed at him in the dim light of the lantern. "I was never a member of that cult. I was one of their sacrifices."

Ryo's pen lifted from the page.

Fubuki tilted his head. "If you didn't already know that, why did you rescue me and bring me here with you alone?"

Ryo's grip tightened. "I don't need to inform you of that." He wrote _sacrifice_ by Fubuki's picture.

"Desperation's easy to detect, you know..."

"Is that a warning?"

Fubuki chuckled. "Why would you interpret it that way?"

Ryo gritted his teeth. "It's nearing dawnbreak." He stood. "I have to get back. Don't go anywhere."

"What's your insurance that I won't?"

"You're a wanted man now." Ryo glanced back at him. "If you had somewhere to go, you wouldn't be at the House of the Peony."

The door slid closed.

Fubuki leaned an elbow on the table, all humor gone. He reached out and extinguished the lantern.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a buzz around the entertainment district. Yusuke glanced at him as he entered the dormitory, but didn't say anything.

...Perhaps Yusuke had been right in calling Ryo 'upright.' Ryo had followed the book almost his entire life. And yet...

Ryo rubbed his temples. He didn't dare to regret his actions after having come this far.

First order of business—find a case that he could work on to get Kuzuki off his tail, and resist the urge to take a nap.

Several hours later, he'd found something promising, a theft, and it was time for his weekly meeting with Kuzuki. He splashed water on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, but he'd have to hope that Kuzuki would find it an unremarkable fact.

Fate wasn't that kind; Kuzuki did in fact remark on it. Seated at the small table, leaning forward slightly, he looked alert and threatening in Ryo's view. "Did something happen?"

"No..." Ryo said. "I was up late scouring documents."

Kuzuki peered at him a moment more. "I see," he said.

A server arrived, and set their coffee in front of them. Kuzuki lifted his and took a sip. Ryo gulped his down, and then slid a file folder over to Kuzuki's side of the table.

Kuzuki opened it, glanced at the first page. "Alright," he said. He rested his chin on his knuckles. "Have you heard of the prison break?"

"Yes, of course."

Kuzuki's eyes narrowed. "And you were in your room at the dormitory last night?"

"...What do you mean?"

Kuzuki raised an eyebrow. "When I heard, I went to your dormitory. You weren't in. I knocked on your painter neighbor's door, but he wasn't in, either."

Ryo tilted his head. "I didn't think I was that heavy of a sleeper, but..."

That he had fallen briefly asleep because he had been staying up was the intended implication. He didn't know what time Kuzuki had dropped by, of course, but Ryo had left for the prison quite late.

"Indeed," Kuzuki said dryly. 

"What happened?" Ryo said.

"Exactly what it sounds like. Investigation is pending." Kuzuki stood. "That'll be all for today. Your address change is included in this folder, yes? Thank you for your hard work."

* * *

"Let's continue where we left off," Ryo said. He sat down at the low table in the dining room. 

"Don't fall asleep in the middle of it," Fubuki said. It was a taunt. Fubuki's smile, his posture, his chin on his palm, all suggested that he would refuse to repeat his story. Ryo had no doubt that he looked obviously tired. "You're not in a hurry, are you?"

That was wrong. Ryo was very much in a hurry. His grip was tight on his pen; he forced himself to loosen his fingers. "Tell me one thing," he said. "Were there other sacrifices with you?"

"...I couldn't tell," Fubuki said. The mirth had faded away.

* * *

Ryo had fallen asleep nearly immediately. Fubuki looked in on him, then slid the door shut. 

An investigator willing to defy the House of the Peony...

He strode to the back porch. Something at the corner of his eye...something that ducked when he glanced at that rooftop. A flash of blue hair.

...The Phantom. 

Fubuki carefully didn't stare in that direction, folding his arms as he looked out into the night.

* * *

There was a minor hubbub at the House of the Peony when Ryo passed by the entertainment district bright and early in the morning. That was not strange; it had been a week, but in the wake of Fubuki's "escape," it was reasonable to revisit the scene of his supposed crime. 

Ryo turned his face away and made to walk away, but someone spotted him.

"You." The woman approached. "You're from the same investigation agency as Sir Kuzuki, aren't you?"

Ryo reluctantly turned back. "That's right." 

She appraised him with cool eyes. "Did he send you?"

"I was curious."

"I see," she said clippedly, and turned away. "Then be on your way," she said, as someone called for her—"Inspector Echo"—and she stepped back toward the gathering.

A flash of yellow caught his eye. Someone had come onto the second-floor balcony of the building opposite, her hair having caught the light. She glanced over at him. He averted his gaze and strode quickly away.

* * *

Long shadows. The day lengthened. As he could no longer use his home as a base, all day he had been stuck doing clerical work at an uncomfortable little table in the corner of the office; a necessity while they got his desk ready, but that knowledge only marginally made his day any easier to bear. It was relief to finally start on the way home.

Among the falling dark, a gleam was what caught Ryo's attention first. In the street in front of him, someone stopped. The gleam had come from the gold he was wearing, bands over strong muscles.

"Sir O'Brien, is it?" Ryo said.

"I'm gratified you know of me," O'Brien replied with a stock response. His gaze drilled into Ryo. "I've heard that you were looking into the Cult of the Supreme King, correct?"

"What of it?"

"I was just passing by," O'Brien said, unperturbed. Ryo was skeptical, but that seemed to be it for O'Brien. He turned, presumably to leave.

"Wait." Ryo stepped toward him. "What do you know of the Cult of the Supreme King?"

"One thing I do know." His glance was damning. "You should be extremely careful, Sir Ryo."

* * *

Ryo stared, nonplussed, at the food set on the table. He glanced at Fubuki. "You can do this, too?"

"There's no reason why not, is there?" Fubuki said, a benign smile on his face. His demeanor was different from last night; Ryo had felt something change then, but in his exhaustion, he hadn't thought much of it at the time.

"I suppose you've eaten already," Ryo said, as there was only one setting. He set the dinner he had bought on the table. "I suppose I'll have this tomorrow."

"You do have an icebox," Fubuki said nonchalantly. He watched Ryo sit down. "What was your plan once you got me out?"

Ryo paused. "You may become a target again."

"So you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"You're free to think that way about me."

Half-hidden by his palm, Fubuki's mouth might have turned down. The moment passed in the next instant. "I''ll bathe first, then." He stood.

Ryo watched him exit.

* * *

He wrote "O'Brien" in his files, then leaned back. He'd reviewed the files over and over; the Cult of the Supreme King kept things close to the chest. That was precisely what worried him.

With a sigh, he got up, and strode to the extra bedroom. 

"Something wrong?" came from behind him.

Ryo wondered how to put it. "...This house doesn't have any defenses."

"Does that worry you?" Fubuki said dismissively.

"Aren't you worried what will happen to you?"

In the dim lamplight, Fubuki's eyes were barely visible. "I was on borrowed time to begin with." A flutter of cloth; Fubuki folding his arms. "Is that what was bothering you?"

Ryo swept away. "Of course."

Two hours later, tucked in his futon for the night, staring sleeplessly up at the ceiling, it finally dawned on him: the kimono. Fubuki had been wearing a pale cerulean one. The first time Ryo had seen Fubuki at the House of the Peony, he'd been wearing red. In prison, he'd had on white. Ryo had lent him a navy one when he'd brought him back to the house. Fubuki must have gone out sometime to get the cerulean kimono. 

Ryo turned onto his side. Unbidden, the image of peeling that cloth off intruded in his mind. "Tch..." He clutched at his sheets.


	4. Chapter 4

There was an envelope on his desk. Ryo looked around the office—he'd come in early, and only one other person was present, a woman investigator he'd seen but had never caught the name of. She was looking at her files and not paying attention to him.

He sat down and opened the envelope. _Check the city perimeters,_ it said, in plain writing, on plain white paper.

He glanced behind him. As if sensing his gaze, his co-worker looked up. "Yes?"

"No, nothing... Being here's just a little strange."

She smiled politely, and he turned back to the letter, tucking it into his interior pocket.

* * *

An abandoned residence in the middle of the city. A shadowy room. O'Brien opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps, and jumped down from his training bar.

"Things look like they might get messy, yeah?" The lanky man and the crocodile stepped into the room. 

"There was no other way this could go," O'Brien said.

They both looked toward the standing coffin. It dominated the middle of the room, centered in layers of sigils. Five flickering candles stood silently at the sigil's five points. One layer of the sigil was dimmer than the rest, one candle more unsteady.

It had been a mess since the botched last sacrifice.

"What happened to the last replacement candidate?"

Jim shook his head.

No good... Three times, the attempt to find new sacrifices had failed. Without the original sigil branding the sacrifice, the ritual was too weak.

Jim pulled his hat a bit lower on his head. "It's been about half a year, huh?"

* * *

Ryo hadn't known what to look for, so he'd spent an unearthly amount of the day taking a steamtram to the city's exterior and walking along it, all the while having to entertain the thought that it had been a trap.

Ryo pulled his coat closer. The sun was going down; it was getting chilly.

The envelope had been unmarked. It had been placed on his desk, not delivered by the mail. He had only moved to the office a day ago. Someone had known about him. No doubt the letter could be construed as a threat.

He was adjusting his coat again when he saw it: something on the ground. Kneeling to inspect it, he observed that something had been drawn on the ground. He touched it, cautiously, and confirmed that it wasn't paint. If he squinted, he could make out the faint mark: the kanji "doubt."

A sound had him whirling around.

An unlit lantern in her hand, Sanaki of the House of the Peony peered at him. "Sir Ryo, is it? What are you doing over there?"

Too late, Ryo realized how close he was to the entertainment district. "I dropped something," he said. He stood. "And yourself?"

"Errand," she answered simply. "Well then..." She lit her lantern. The faint coppery light burnished her dark hair. "I must be on my way."

They nodded politely at each other as she passed. Ryo waited until he was sure she was gone before he glanced back at the mark. It had faded away again, hidden by the encroaching night.

* * *

The house was dark when he got home. He lit the night lantern, and brought it with him to the common room. There were dishes on the table, covered by squares of linen cloth.

"Hard day at work?" Fubuki came up behind him.

"Did I wake you?"

Fubuki didn't answer, instead saying, "Heating it is up to you."

"...Thanks." He watched Fubuki retreat to the second bedroom out of the corner of his eye. In the dim light of the lantern, Fubuki's kimono was too light to have been the one Ryo had loaned him.

He set the lantern on the table with a sigh. He reached into his coat for his notebook, to update his file. His hand grasped nothing but cloth. He took off his coat and patted it down. His notebook was gone.

* * *

A sound wakened him in the night. He jerked upright, listening carefully. The night was very quiet, as compared to the dormitory. He breathed lightly.

There was not another sound. He thought of lying back down and going back to sleep. His body disobeyed him, refusing to do so. He stood instead. He slid open his door. It sounded loud in the silence.

He lit a mini-lantern and stepped carefully into the hallway. A crack on the floorboard made him whirl around.

"Couldn't fall asleep?" Fubuki was standing behind him.

"...Did you hear something?"

"You," Fubuki said dryly.

There was going to be no getting more out of him. In the dim, flickering light, the border of Fubuki's neck seemed to leap out at him. Ryo glanced away.

Fubuki stepped into his personal space. "Something wrong?" he said.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he was angled, his kimono had opened slightly.

"What about you?" Ryo said, meeting his eyes. "Did you really come out here because you heard me?"

"Is there any other reason?" Fubuki straightened, took a step back. "Did you move to this house because it was a good hiding place?" He raised his long fingers to his mouth. "Or...for some other reason?"

"The old place would have been too cramped," Ryo said. His nails were digging into his palm.

There was a faint smirk on Fubuki's face as he turned away. "Would it, now?"

Ryo exhaled, piqued. That had been deliberate, but he knew neither what Fubuki could be hiding, or what he was thinking, and Fubuki's very demeanor suggested that he would not be forthcoming. Ryo made a pass through his house, and then returned to his room, with pooling frustration in his gut his only reward.

* * *

Fubuki stole quietly through the hallway, and stopped by the back entrance. The extra candle for the night lantern was lying unnoticed on the floor.

He wordlessly peered into the night, but there was no trace of movement.


	5. Chapter 5

(( ** "Noncon" has been added to the tags for this chapter. ))

* * *

There were five kanji in all, scattered throughout the perimeter of the city. Ryo had brought a map with him. Once he had finished his survey, at the end of three days, he stood at the spot he had started, holding the map open, his fingers stiff.

If he connected the kanji, they encircled the city at equidistant intervals. He wished he was surprised. He stuffed the map back into his pocket, making sure to tuck it securely. 

Distantly, a bell rang, proclaiming the hour. He was going to be late for his meeting with Kuzuki.

"My apologies," he said, sliding into the chair opposite his supervisor. 

"I hope you have simply been preoccupied with the case," Kuzuki said lightly. 

"Of course."

Kuzuki laid his teacup down. Ryo refilled his cup, then poured one for himself.

"Have you been making good progress?"

"I...wouldn't go so far as to say so," Ryo said.

"It is a fairly difficult one," Kuzuki said. He reached into his jacket pocket and slid something over to Ryo. "You might need this, hm?"

Ryo stared at his own notebook—the notebook that he had lost the other night. His neatly-written name on the front cover peered up at him, unmistakeable. "Where was this?" he said.

"Someone turned it in at the office." Kuzuki leaned back, seemingly unconcerned.

Ryo reached for the notebook and squirreled it away. "That was careless of me. Thank you."

"How is it, working at the office?" Kuzuki continued the thread of the conversation.

"I've become accustomed to it," Ryo said.

"Good to hear." Kuzuki folded his hands on the table and peered at him. "Sir Ryo. While you're working the case you chose, I'd like to ask you to look into the entertainment district murder."

"I don't mind," Ryo said evenly. "But I'm a junior investigator. Why me?"

"The more eyes on it, the better," Kuzuki answered. "Our agency is cooperating with the inspectors. If you need to see records of interviews, or collected evidence, coordinate with Inspector Echo."

That was a familiar name. Ryo had met her, briefly. "How's the investigation progressing?"

"Briskly, I'm led to assume." Kuzuki leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You know who the escaped convict was, I assume."

That was a trick question. Kuzuki had been there to retrieve Ryo at the House of the Peony. Ryo hadn't asked for Fubuki by name, but the other workers would had known, and would've told the inspectors if asked. "I met with him once," Ryo said.

Kuzuki's eyes searched his face. "I see."

* * *

The house was dark and silent. Ryo was flipping through his notebook when Fubuki stepped into the communal room. "You're back."

Despite himself, Ryo tensed, and looked up. He'd been trying to forget that Fubuki slept a room away. So far, it'd been fruitless. He looked away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

A chuckle. "You're tense." A patter of footsteps as he left the room, and then came back with a teapot and two cups. He set them onto the table between them and poured the tea. "Is something bothering you?" There was a knowing smile on his face.

Ryo closed the notebook. "I think you already know." There must have been a reason that Fubuki had deviated from the dinner schedule that he had set, after all; Ryo hadn't come home any later than usual.

"An educated guess, perhaps, hm?" Fubuki said with a glance as he went back to the kitchen, the soft sound of his kimono sliding against his skin with the movement. 

Ryo was left with the cups. Light wisps of steam danced into the air. Ryo reached deep in his pocket, pulled out a little packet, and tapped the white powder into Fubuki's cup. He deftly returned it to his pocket. 

Fubuki returned with the rest of it—the dishes, utensils, and bowls of rice, which he set out on the table, then set the tray beside him, with practiced movements that nearly approached sensuality. He looked up, and met Ryo's eyes. "What's with that look?" He seated himself opposite.

"What's with the change in routine?" Ryo picked up his cup and took a sip.

"Change of pace?" Fubuki said idly. He picked up his cup. Less facetiously, he said, "I had something I wanted to do today..." His lips touched the cup's rim, and then he jerked it away. "Aphrodisiac?" He raised his eyes.

Ryo didn't answer. His grip on his cup had gotten dangerously slack.

Fubuki reached over and lifted the cup from Ryo's hand. "Paralyzing agent," he said. "Looks like I win, Ryo."

Breathing shallowly, Ryo watched Fubuki get up and come around the table. With light pressure, he pushed Ryo onto his back. Ryo's mouth refused to move, his tongue suddenly a stranger. His palms tingled.

"It won't harm you," Fubuki said. His fingers traveled along Ryo's chest, reached into Ryo's jacket, and pulled out his notebook. "But I can't say the same for me, hm?" He flipped through the pages.

Ryo was able to slightly lift his arm. Without looking, Fubuki lifted his leg and pressed Ryo's arm down with his knee. The pressure was strange. Ryo disconcertingly couldn't tell how much weight was on it. He swallowed with difficulty.

Fubuki snapped the notebook closed, and looked down at Ryo, his head tilted, his expression devoid of his usual smile, replaced with detachment. He reached over and lifted Ryo's chin, tilting Ryo's head back.

Able to breathe easier, Ryo exhaled jaggedly, hyperaware of being watched. His skin felt hot.

"Well," Fubuki said. He tossed the book onto the table. "Since you've gone to all this trouble..." He picked up the aphrodisiac and downed it in one gulp. He looked back down at Ryo as he swallowed, dipping his fingers into the remainder, and slid them into Ryo's mouth.

It was cloying and sweet on Ryo's tongue. A sound escaped him involuntarily.

Fubuki shifted, releasing Ryo's arm. He trailed his hand down to Ryo's thigh. "We can't leave you like this, can we?" Dark amusement had entered his voice. He fingers deftly unbuttoned Ryo's shirt, and then his pants. Unable to move but able to feel, Ryo breathed heavily.

* * *

The lamplight had flickered low, but daylight had started to lighten the room nevertheless. Ryo levered himself onto his elbow. Fubuki was asleep beside him. Not letting him the chance to wake up, Ryo seized the chance and had Fubuki pinned just as he snapped awake.

"Ah—" Fubuki let out a muffled, startled sound, as Ryo entered him in a single thrust. Ryo exhaled, breathing roughly. Beneath him, Fubuki's face pressed against the floor, his features twisted. His fingers scrabbled on the floor. And then, with a shuddering breath, his shoulders dropped, tension forcibly eased. Preparing to endure it.

That realization brought Ryo back to his senses in a thunderclap of clarity. He slowly pulled out. Without a word, he got up, and went to the bath. 

While the water heated, he splashed cold water onto his face, chasing away the remaining numbness. HIs breath was loud in the small room.

* * *

When he emerged from the bath, Fubuki was gone from the communal room. Ryo found him sitting at the back porch, facing the rapidly-approaching morning. Ryo couldn't see his face, but he didn't seem to tense as Ryo approached. 

Ryo sat down next to him. "Are you alright?"

A startled chuckle. "How kind of you to ask." Tonelessly, he added, "It's not the worst thing that's been done to me."

Ryo crossed his arms. "That would mean that you don't feel guilty for what you did to me, doesn't it?"

"That's right. Unlike you, I did it deliberately."

"All of that, just to look at my notebook?"

A breeze passed through, disrupting the sudden silence that had fallen upon them. The night lantern flickered out. 

"His name," Fubuki said softly. "It was...'Sho'?"

Movement, quicker than his brain could register. Ryo found himself clutching Fubuki's shoulders. "Why do you know that?"

"He's the reason you're after the Cult, isn't it?"

Ryo noticed that his fingers were digging into Fubuki's flesh. He forced himself to let go. "I didn't write his name into my notebook."

Fubuki turned away. "But it is him, isn't it? He was another of the Cult's sacrifices." He paused, gazing blankly into the distance. "The ritual was...hazy. When I came to, I was...lying somewhere. No one else was there."

"...And then you returned to the House of the Peony?"

"That's right."

Ryo clenched his teeth. There had been no emotion in that last statement, or at least, none that he could discern. He turned on his heel, and retreated back into the house.


	6. Chapter 6

It had rained all day, slicking the roads and dampening the air. Ryo stood outside the agency building, an umbrella held by his side, reconsidering his options. The past week had been quiet; Ryo's investigation of the perimeter of the city had ended there—any analysis of the five kanji had not been fruitful. Those specific words in a ring was not recorded as meaning anything in particular.

On top of that, he had not made any progress on his cover investigation, the series of robberies by a self-styled shadowy figure or figures that had many unexplainable oddities to it. He'd chosen the case specifically because it was so odd and difficult, such that not making progress wouldn't be suspicious, but there was a difference between not being able to produce results and not seeming to have tried at all. 

There was a flutter of activity at the corner. A cluster of people, talking heatedly in low voices. They were an eclectic bunch; two of them wearing styles that were more characteristic of the entertainment district, three wearing crisp western-style suits, and the last in something that was so nondescript that it seemed purposefully plain.

"The House of the Peony must be getting heat," someone murmured. Ryo jumped— Yusuke had appeared suddenly beside him, standing uncomfortably close. Yusuke shifted his gaze to Ryo's face. "It's been a while," he said.

Ryo turned back to the cluster, then thought better of it and faced ahead instead. "How do you know that's the House of the Peony?"

"I've seen them before," Yusuke said, adjusting his posture as well, using Ryo as a shield to more obviously watch them.

"How long have you been keeping an eye on them?" Ryo answered, deadpan.

"A while." Yusuke reached up and brushed his bangs away from his face. "Have you heard? The House of the Peony has been getting criticism from its financial backers and customers since the murder."

"Really..." Ryo murmured. He had not, in fact, heard. Fubuki aside, he didn't have any contacts in the House of the Peony.

After another moment, the group broke up, and quickly separated ways. Once they had gone, Ryo turned to Yusuke. "Were you following them?"

"I happened to notice them," Yusuke said. "And then I noticed you."

"I see..."

Yusuke met his gaze. "Do you want a spy?"

"I might need one." Ryo stepped away. "Were you headed somewhere? I'll treat you to that lunch."

* * *

There was another envelope on his desk when he returned. As with the last one, it was unmarked; unlike the last time, however, there were more people in the office. Ryo slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket. 

As he was about to leave for the day, Kuzuki met him at the door. "Heading home?"

"That's right," Ryo said.

"It started raining again. Take care." Kuzuki returned to the office.

Ryo waited until he had heard Kuzuki's footsteps recede before he pressed the spot on his jacket where the envelope was tucked away. With an umbrella over him, it shouldn't get soaked, but anything could happen between then and there.

Most of the office had already gone. He turned, and went to the bathroom. The note was simple: _Beware the House of the Peony._

Ryo scowled. Barely worth the effort to read it.

* * *

The house was dark when he reached it. Ryo dropped his umbrella by the door, and started peeling off his layers as he headed to the washroom.

Fubuki was in the communal room. "You're back early," he said. He had been in the middle of taking his meal. Ryo found himself surprised how much he liked even the mild surprise in Fubuki's bearing.

"Yeah," Ryo said simply.

When he emerged from the bath, Fubuki was in the kitchen. Ryo frowned; he had begrudgingly started bringing himself to eat Fubuki's meals again three days ago, since Fubuki had continued to have them ready, but this was the first he was finding out that Fubuki made their meals separately. "Since I'm here," Ryo said. "I can make my own."

"You'd never given me requests," Fubuki said, but obligingly stepped back.

"I didn't think it was important." And...there had always been _that_ issue. The kitchen was small and narrow, and though Fubuki wasn't near enough to touch, the space seemed warm with his presence. After that day last week, the both of them had kept their distance, existing in a somewhat delicate truce. "...Would you take my requests?"

"Perhaps." A rustle of cloth as Fubuki folded his arms. "But my repertoire isn't that large, you know."

"That's a surprise."

A chuckle. "Is it? I'm not an escort; I took visitors at the House."

Ryo speculatively moved tools around. Fubuki had become freer with information about himself ever since he had uncovered Ryo's own stakes in the investigation."Don't worry about it, then," Ryo said. "Your usual fare is fine."

"Not a picky eater, are you?"

Ryo turned his head. Fubuki was regarding him with a light-hearted smile. "I suppose not."

Fubuki smirked. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Ryo breathed a sigh when Fubuki had left. The tension in his body slowly relaxed in the absence as he focused on finishing making his dinner.

* * *

The sun emerged strong the next morning, expunging all of the rain from the streets before Ryo had even left for work. He dropped into the office briefly, and then headed to the teahouse. 

Ryo glanced out the window at the passers-by. It was odd to meet with someone this early, but Yusuke had waved that away with a glib "circumstances." He had drawn Ryo a picture; Ryo spotted her moments before she unceremoniously slotted into the seat opposite him. "Sir Ryo, yes? Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you, Madam Ann." Seeing her in person, it suddenly struck him why her image had seemed familiar. With her hair bound up in twintails and features of delicate foreign origin, she was recognizable as the person he had glimpsed at the balcony across the street from the House of the Peony. 

"So," Ann said, delicately picking up her teacup. "What would you ask of me, Sir Ryo?"

"Our mutual friend tells me you have a good view of the House of the Peony," Ryo started.

"And which part do you want me to look at?"

Ryo paused, ruminating it over. "I need a general sense, I suppose..."

"Sounds simple."

Ryo considered expanding on what he was looking for, but he needed her in the first place because he didn't know, and she seemed unconcerned with his lack of specificity. "About your compensation..."

Ann held up a hand. "I'll name a price whenever I have something for you."

He nodded in agreement.

"Well now." She leaned forward, cupping her chin on a hand. "Why don't you give me more of an idea what kind of general sense you're looking for?"


	7. Chapter 7

He had started to receive pressure from Kuzuki about the cover case. Ryo supposed it was understandable, really—"The Phantom" had been dismissed once before, and then they'd struck again. The more recent theft was of a painting, the evidence thin on the ground. Intellectually, Ryo knew what the fuss was about, but it seemed far away from him.

He lifted his tea to his lips and then stopped. Something was poking over the edge of his files. An envelope had been hidden on his desk. He put his mug down, casting the office a surreptitious glance. About half the office was in, not looking his way, as usual. Ryo quickly tucked the envelope away into his jacket. It was heavier than a letter, and lumpy. Probably a powder.

* * *

"Well, well, aren't you back so soon," the apothecarist said with a smirk.

Ryo closed the door of the small shop behind him, not deigning that statement with an answer, and placed the envelope on her counter. As he'd thought, it had been a little wax-paper packet of powder. "Do you think you can analyze this for me?"

"You don't know what it is?" The apothecarist leaned forward to take a look at it.

"It was sent to me anonymously."

"A likely story," she said. She unfolded the wax-paper and examined the white powder, poking at it delicately. "How did you find the aphrodisiac?"

Ryo crossed his arms. "It was fine."

She glanced up at him.

"Can you analyze it?" Ryo repeated bluntly. 

"Doesn't look difficult." She portioned out a bit of the powder with a neat ruler, sliding it onto another piece of paper. "Come back tomorrow, perhaps."

"Alright. Thanks, madam."

"Wait, Sir Ryo." The apothecarist leaned on the counter. It creaked as she peered at him. "Have you run afoul of the House of the Peony?"

"...How did you know about that?"

"I have my sources."

"I see." 

She watched him, expectant, but he didn't give details. "Be very careful, Sir Ryo," she said finally.

* * *

Fubuki wasn't present in the house when Ryo returned. Dinner had been placed on the table, as usual. The house was still and quiet.

He returned to Fubuki's room. He had only slid the door open a crack, just enough to ascertain that Fubuki wasn't in... Standing before it now, he opened it wide. 

The room was largely bare, as could be expected of someone who'd only inhabited it for the small amount of time that he had. The futon was neatly rolled. The navy kimono and Western-style shirt and slacks that Ryo had lent him, along with Fubuki's own white kimono, were hanging against the wall. There was nothing strange here.

A sound had him whirling around. He ran to the back porch. 

"Ah, Ryo." Fubuki, a little scuffed, held up the struggling creature in his arms. "I found a cat."

Ryo stared into the creature's enormous blue eyes, bright against its black fur. "Is that where you were?"

"It was a little trespasser. You were quite sneaky, weren't you?" he said to the cat. He brought it to the street and released it. "Don't come back, okay?"

Ryo crossed his arms as Fubuki returned. "How long were you chasing it?"

"A while," Fubuki said. He brushed off his kimono. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Don't change the subject..." Ryo followed him inside. "Did anyone notice you?"

"No one knows me here, so I imagine not."

"...Alright."

Fubuki glanced at Ryo over his shoulder. "...You're still worried about something?"

"No..." Ryo was quiet a moment. "I want to confirm something. You have a disguise?"

A chuckle. "Of course. What are you afraid of?"

He wanted Ryo to say it.

Ryo went past him to the communal room. "I might need your testimony someday."

* * *

The night was still. Fubuki crossed his arms. The cat didn't seem to have come back. "Isn't this troublesome..." he muttered despite himself. He swept his gaze over the night once more, then turned and went back into the house.

Flickering lamplight from the communal room—Ryo must have relocated there. When Fubuki entered, Ryo had set a pile of files on the table. "Working late?"

Ryo glanced up at him, then back to the papers. "I can't leave it alone." He twisted the envelope in his hands, then set it aside. He had given the apothecarist the wax-papered powder but had kept the envelope and the slips of blank paper that had rested inside it. He'd hoped to discover something more, but the paper seemed to be just as they appeared: blank paper.

Fubuki padded out of the room as Ryo turned his attention to something else, and then back again as Fubuki came back in, holding a small bowl. "Here." He set the bowl down next to the paper, dipped two fingers in the clear liquid, and smeared it onto one of the slips. Ryo watched as a string of numbers, interspaced with kanji, appeared on the paper.

His gaze slid back to Fubuki's face. Fubuki smiled placidly at him, and turned and exited the room, his footsteps silent on the floor.

Ryo turned back to the paper. He applied the liquid to the other slip, but that one was truly blank. Ryo leaned back, staring at the message.

* * *

In the deep night, not much was visible, despite the illumination of the street lanterns. He deftly avoided the night watch, watching and listening carefully, armed with the foreknowledge of their probable routes.

He reached the location specified in the slip.

A soft swish of cloth and the faint sheen of long dark hair alerted him to her presence. "You're late." 

"The night watch was being erratic tonight," he responded, equally quietly. "Did you do this under orders? Sanaki."

Sanaki was quiet a moment. "I called you here to give you a warning."

"House of the Peony?"

She shook her head. "Cult of the Supreme King."

"...I see."

"...Fubuki." She straightened from the wall and faced him. "You should know something. When I was assisting your prison break, there was someone else in the shadows. A member of the Phantom, looking after your investigator friend."

"I know about him," Fubuki said.

"As long as you're aware." She tossed him a short blade.

He caught it, unsheathed it in almost the same movement, exposing an inch of steel. It wasn't his—the House of the Peony would notice it was missing—but the weight and handling were similar. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded once, in acknowledgement, and turned and disappeared into the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a place that he used to like to go for some private time. It belonged to the Woodwind Camellia teahouse across the street, which might have been a step too far if it wasn't a forgotten little nook abutting the House of the Peony that the Camellia, for some reason, owned. Hardly anyone from the Camellia ever used it, except for one.

"You seem cheerful," Fubuki said. A joke, of course. Ann often came to the walled-off mini-garden to feel better, and she looked a mite haggard, seated on the lone bench.

She chuckled. "Just a little tired, I guess."

He settled in on the other side of the bench. "Had a hard time last night?"

She tossed her hair over her shoulder in irritation. "More like this morning."

Fubuki was silent, waiting for her to elaborate. He'd met her accidentally when they'd happened to come here at the same time, and they sometimes liked to commiserate, though, as they were in different professions, the subjects of their ire didn't often overlap.

She seemed not to want to talk about it this time. "Well, what about you?" she said. "Is it okay for you to come here?"

"I'll figure something out," he said.

"If you say so," she said skeptically.

Fubuki chuckled. "I'm pretty good at sneaking, you know." He tilted his head. "May I?"

She blew a breath out. "You're changing the subject..." But she obligingly pulled out a comb and handed it to him.

"You haven't really answered me either, you know?" Her hair was pale against his hand. There was something almost nostalgic in it, something deep inside him that drew comfort from the sight of it, or perhaps the faint impression of it. Another time...another place...

A gentle breeze drifted through the nook.

Fubuki's hands stilled. "I seem to be spotting your phantom friend lately."

"—Is that right?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Fubuki spotted the cat that was sitting just inside the nook, staring unnaturally at them.

"I seem to be seeing your peony friends out and about more often these days, too," Ann said with some forced cheer. "I wonder what that could mean?"

He smiled as he handed the comb back. "That's the question, isn't it?"

* * *

Ryo had stopped to take a break when a chill crawled down his spine. He glanced at the passers-by. He was being watched. It was mealtime hour, so there were more people than usual on the streets—hard to tell who was taking an unusual interest in him.

Ryo exhaled slowly. Surely they couldn't make a move in broad daylight. He returned to the agency without incident.

He placed his lunch on his desk and leaned back in his chair. Nearby, his coworker was scribbling away on his notepad. He had a similar build to Ryo; even his coat, hanging over his chair, was similar to what Ryo was wearing. Earlier in the day, he'd been complaining that he would be doing paperwork all day.

Ryo turned back to his desk as a plan formulated in his mind.

* * *

When it came time, Ryo left with his co-worker, walked with him for a block as they idly chatted. They parted at the intersection. 

The feeling of being watched didn't abate. The gambit hadn't worked. 

He wanted to believe that he had accepted that it wouldn't, but there was something to be said for having to face it in the moment. Quite an uncomfortable feeling, to say the least. He walked along for a while, and then turned into an alleyway.

He was stopped in his tracks by surprise. A lanky man, wearing an attention-drawing wide hat, glanced at him.

"—Excuse me," Ryo said, and moved to pass by.

"Are you in a spot of trouble?" The man glanced at the mouth of the alleyway. A shadow fell across the opening. A woman in traditional dress came into view, glanced at them puzzledly, then averted her eyes and fast-walked away.

Ryo knew her—the daughter of the owner of the corner store. Not quite suspicious... It was about that time for the workers to go home.

"This was a shortcut," Ryo said.

"I see," the lanky man said, with some humor. He reached up to adjust his hat.

Ryo's attention was drawn to slight movement in the shadows—low to the ground, a creature of some kind. "I'll excuse myself," Ryo said curtly, and headed away.

* * *

The bell jangled as he entered. The apothecarist's shop was empty.

The apothecarist was waiting for him. "It's a hallucinogen," she said. She slid the wax packet over the counter. She looked a bit pale.

"What's wrong?" Ryo said.

Her jaw clenched, and she shook her head. "Don't come back anymore, Ryo."

"Did I—"

She held up a hand to quiet him. "I won't be here," she clarified. "I'm getting out of here for a while."

"What brought this on?"

"I think you know."

* * *

From far away, he heard the door slide shut. Then, footsteps, striding across the hallway above, then the creak of the floorboard at the top of the stairs. O'Brien opened his eyes as Jim stepped off the last step. 

"Doing that again?" Jim said, upside-down.

O'Brien heaved his torso upright to his knees, and then jumped to the ground. He didn't bother to answer; Jim knew that he trained every day.

Unperturbed by his silence, Jim sank into a chair. "I met someone very interesting tonight."

* * *

The house was still and quiet when he returned. He was home quite a bit later than usual. 

Something was flickering. The lamp in Fubuki's room was on, creating strange shadows through his slightly ajar door.

Ryo slid it open. The futon was spread out on the floor. Fubuki was sitting in the far corner, his eyes closed, seeming to have fallen asleep.

That impression only lasted a moment. Fubuki raised his head. "What is it?" His face had a gentle half-smile that didn't purely indicate sleep, but his eyes weren't fully open. He must not have entirely woken up.

"I was just passing by... Your door was open."

"I see..." Fubuki levered himself to his feet. "I'm going to sleep. Goodnight."

Ryo watched him crawl into the futon. He slid the door closed.

* * *

A cloth secured around his mouth and nose, Ryo carefully poured a little bit of the powder onto another sheet of wax paper. Fine grains...no odor, uniform color. The apothecarist had written him a report in her disorganized scrawl. She'd listed the compounds, brief descriptions on some of them, and the effects and side-effects at the bottom of the page.

Ryo recognized the symptoms. The powder was a drug, but it could also be a poison.

It wasn't his case, but he'd occasionally overhear other investigators at the office talk about a certain series of cases—a series of bodies that had quietly turned up in the shadowy places of the city.

About half of the agency had been assigned to assist with it, it seemed, in the same way that Ryo had been assigned to assist with the Peony murder. 

The next morning, he dropped off a bit of the powder with one of those investigators. "Got a tip while I was looking into something else," Ryo said. "Here." He handed over the copy he'd made of the apothecarist's report.

"Hm. This may be helpful. Thanks, Sir Ryo."

* * *

The breeze was beginning to turn brittle. Jim hunched in his jacket and breathed deeply. The air smelled stale.

He stepped carefully around the faded kanji inscribed into the ground by his feet. It looked the same, as had the other anchors. Still, he thought he could detect a slight rumbling. His false eye had begun to pain him lately.

Movement at the corner of his working eye. He turned as a woman walked into view.

"Evening," he said.

"Good evening," she replied.

"What are you doing out here so late, madam?"

"Running an errand. It's not far."

"...Ah." The entertainment district was nearby. "My apologies, madam."

She shook her head, her long black hair swaying with the movement. "Why were you standing here, sir?"

"Ah, enjoying the breeze." He pulled his wide-brimmed hat over his head. "I'll excuse myself now, madam. You should get out of this cold soon, too."


End file.
